A Merry Heart (2 page)

Anna felt something soft and furry rub against her leg, and she opened her eyes. One of the calico barn cats sat at her feet, staring up at her with eyes half closed, peacefully purring. She leaned over and stroked the animal behind its ears. “I think Miriam could learn a lesson from you, Callie. She needs to take the time to relax more, enjoy each precious moment, and carefully search for the right man to love.”

The cat meowed as if in agreement and promptly fell asleep. Anna reached for the bowl beside her and resumed shelling peas.

Miriam’s upstairs bedroom looked even more inviting than usual. The freshly aired quilt on the bed was neat and crisp, giving the room a pleasantly clean, outdoor smell. The bare wooden floor was shiny and smooth as glass. Even the blue washing bowl sitting on the dresser across the room reassured her of the cleanliness and orderliness of her plain yet cozy room. On days like today, she wished she could hide away inside the four walls of this familiar room and shut out the world with all of its ugliness and pain.

Miriam took a seat on the comfortable bed and pulled her shoes off with a yawn.
How odd that some of the young people among my faith desire to leave this secure and peaceful life for the troublesome, hectic, modern world. I don’t believe I could ever betray the Amish faith in such a way. Modern things may have their appeal, but simplicity and humility, though they separate us from the rest of the world, are a part of our culture that I treasure.

She fluffed up her pillow and stretched out for a few moments of rest before changing her clothes. Staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, she reflected on the voices of the two children she had heard talking about her earlier. “How little they really know about their teacher,” she whispered. “They don’t understand my pain. They truly believe I have a heart of stone.”

Her vision blurred as tears burned her eyes. “My heart’s
not stone—it’s broken and shattered, and I’m afraid it always will be so.”

A tear slid down Miriam’s face and landed on the pillow beneath her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to allow more tears to follow, for she knew if she let her emotions take over, she might lose control and never be able to stop crying. Miriam longed to be loved and feel cherished, and she knew in her heart that she was capable—or at least had been capable—of returning that same kind of love to a man who was willing to give his whole heart to her. She thought she had found such a man in William, but after his betrayal, she was certain that no man could ever be trusted. So she would guard her heart and her emotions and never let anyone cause her that kind of pain again.

Unwillingly, Miriam allowed her mind to wander back to when she was a twelve-year-old girl attending the one-room schoolhouse where she was now the teacher. . . .

Miriam sat upright at her desk, listening attentively to the lesson being taught until a slight tug on the back of her small, white head-covering caused her to turn around.

William Graber grinned, and the look in his deep, green eyes seemed to bore into her soul as his gaze held her captive. Even at her young age, Miriam knew she wanted to marry him someday.

William handed her a crumpled note he’d taken from his shirt pocket.

Miriam took the piece of paper, turned back around, and opened it slowly, not wanting the teacher to hear
any rumpling. She smiled as she silently read William’s words:

Miriam turned and gave William a quick nod; then she folded the note and placed it inside her desk. Impatiently, she waited for the minutes on the battery-operated wall clock to tick away. . . .

Miriam’s thoughts returned to the present. Releasing a sigh, she crawled off the bed and shuffled across the room to stand in front of the open window, where she reflected on the first day she had walked home from school with William. It was the beginning of many walks home together, and over the next few years, their friendship had grown as he continued to gain her favor.

Miriam and William’s eighth year in school was their final one, and they both spent the next year in vocational training at home. William was instructed in the best of Amish farming methods, and Miriam learned the more arduous homemaking skills. She was sure they would eventually marry and settle down on a farm of their own, and she wanted to be sure she could run an efficient, well-organized home.

William was given a horse and courting buggy at the age of sixteen, and a few days later, he asked if he could give
Miriam a ride home after a young people’s singing. That had been the beginning of their courting days and the night Miriam had known she had fallen in love.

The months melted into years, and by the time the young couple had turned twenty, they still hadn’t made definite wedding plans. Though they often talked of it secretly, William said he didn’t feel quite ready for the responsibilities of running a farm of his own. After working full-time for his father since the age of fifteen, he wasn’t even certain that he wanted to farm. He knew it was expected of him, but he thought he might be more suited to another trade.

The opportunity William had been waiting for arrived a short time later when he was invited to learn the painting trade from his uncle Abe, who lived in Ohio.

Miriam cried for days after William left, but he promised to write often and visit on holidays and extended weekends. It wasn’t much consolation, as she had hoped that by now the two of them would be married, perhaps even starting a family.

Impatiently, she waited for the mail each day, moping around in a melancholy mood when there was no letter, and lighthearted and happy whenever she heard from William. His letters were full of enthusiastic descriptions of his new job, as he explained how he had learned the correct way to hold a paintbrush and apply paint quickly yet neatly to any surface. He told her about some of the modern buildings in town they had been contracted to paint, and he promised he would be home soon for a visit.

William’s visits were frequent at first, but after he’d been gone a year, his visits came less often, as did his letters. On
Miriam’s twenty-fourth birthday, a letter arrived with the familiar Ohio postmark. Her heart pounded with excitement, and her hands trembled as she tore open the envelope. It was the first letter she’d had from him in several months, but William’s words had shaken her to the core.

Miriam groaned at the memory as she pressed her forehead against the cold window. When the pain became unbearable, she moved away from the window. Slowly, as though she were in a daze, she made her way across the room to her dresser. She knelt on the floor and pulled open the bottom drawer with such force that it nearly fell out. As she removed the stack of letters she had received from William during his time in Ohio, a sob caught in her throat. Her hands shook as she fumbled through the envelopes until she found his final letter. In a shaky voice, she read it out loud:

Even though William’s final letter had come nearly two years ago, to Miriam it felt like only yesterday. Her heart ached whenever she thought of him or read one of his letters. Did he really believe she would fall in love with someone else the way he had done? She had been crushed when he’d referred to their relationship as only a friendship. Had their years together meant nothing at all?

Miriam shuddered and leaned heavily against her dresser. The bitterness she still carried created a feeling of fatigue that never allowed her to feel fully rested. Suddenly, the room felt stifling, and she wanted to race out the door and never look back. But that wouldn’t solve a thing.

With a determined grunt, Miriam grabbed the stack of envelopes, marched across the room, and flopped onto her bed. As tears streamed down her cheeks, she ripped each one of William’s letters to shreds and dropped the pieces into the wastepaper basket near her bed. William had left her with a heart so broken she was certain it would never mend. But at least his letters could no longer remind her of that horrible pain.

I
n the kitchen, Miriam found her mother standing at the counter, rolling out the dough for chicken potpie.

“Are you feeling better now?” Mom asked with a cheery smile.

Miriam reached for a clean apron hanging on a nearby wall peg. “I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear, because we have guests coming for supper, and it wouldn’t be good if you were gloomy all evening.”

“Guests? Who’s coming over?”

Mom poured the chicken broth into the kettle before answering. “Amos Hilty and his daughter, Mary Ellen.”

Miriam lifted her gaze toward the ceiling. “Oh, Mom, you know I’m not interested in Amos. Why must you go and scheme behind my back?”

“Scheme? Did I hear that someone in my house is scheming?” Papa asked as he entered the kitchen.

Miriam slipped her hand through the crook of her father’s arm. “Mom’s trying to match me up with Amos Hilty. She’s invited him and Mary Ellen to supper again, and they
were just here a few weeks ago.”

Papa leaned his head back and chuckled. His heavy beard, peppered generously with gray, twitched rhythmically with each new wave of laughter. “Daughter, don’t you think it’s high time you married and settled down with a good man? Amos would make you a fine husband, so please don’t close your mind to the idea.”

“I think it’s her heart that is closed.” Mom glanced over at Miriam and slowly shook her head. “A heart blocked off from love soon grows cold.”

Miriam turned away and began setting the table.

At that moment, Miriam’s youngest brother, Lewis, came in from outside, sniffing the air as he hung his straw hat on one of the wall pegs near the back door. “Somethin’ smells mighty good in here, and it’s makin’ me awful hungry.”

“We’re having company for supper, so hurry and wash up,” Mom said, nodding toward the sink.

“Who’s coming?”

“Amos Hilty and his daughter,” Miriam answered before Mom had a chance to reply.

“Aha! I think Amos is a bit sweet on you, sister.”

“Just because he’s a widower and his little girl needs a mother doesn’t mean I’m available. Why can’t you all see that I’m content with my life as it is?” Miriam compressed her lips. “I don’t need a man.”

Lewis gave Mom a knowing look, and she smiled, but neither of them commented on Miriam’s remark. Did they really believe she would be happier if she were married to Amos, regardless of whether she loved him or not?

Miriam clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw ached.
I won’t give up my freedom to marry a man I don’t love, and since I will never allow myself to fall in love again, my family will have to get used to the idea that I’m en alt maedel and will always be one
.

Amos Hilty clucked to his horse and squinted against the setting sun shining through the front window of his buggy as he and his six-year-old daughter headed for Henry and Anna Stoltzfus’s place. This was their second time eating supper at the Stoltzfus home in less than a month, and Amos wondered if Anna had extended the invitations because she knew he couldn’t cook well or if she simply enjoyed entertaining. He was fairly sure that Anna had no idea he had agreed to come for supper again because he wanted to spend more time with Miriam and hopefully win her hand in marriage. More than likely, Miriam’s mother thought he kept accepting her invitations because he was without a wife and needed a decent meal.

He glanced over at Mary Ellen, who sat on the seat beside him with her head turned toward the side window. A little over a year ago, the child’s mother had been killed in a tragic buggy accident, and even though Mary Ellen seemed placid and well-adjusted on the outside, Amos wondered if she might be keeping her feelings bottled up. He figured what his daughter needed was the hand of a woman—someone who would not only care for her needs but also share in her joys, sorrows, and hopes for the future.

That sure isn’t me
, he thought with regret. Mary Ellen rarely spoke of her mother or expressed her feelings about anything of a personal nature. He had a hunch she might be
hiding behind her forced smiles and the pleasant words that seem to slip so easily off her tongue. Someone like Miriam Stoltzfus, whom his daughter seemed to admire and respect, might have a better chance at getting through to Mary Ellen than he ever could. At least he hoped she would.